


The Crown

by VideoStarVCR



Series: MCYT  Oneshots [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, I Tried, I'm Sorry, I'm not having a good time, POV Second Person, Tbh this hurts Y'all, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, no beta we die like wilbur, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VideoStarVCR/pseuds/VideoStarVCR
Summary: Your throne felt like it was made of glass. Shards stabbing into you and keeping you away, as if not looking at it would fix the problem, and when you finally try to do something, it's painful. Your fingers are dripping red, and there's red staining the carpet, and everything is worse.Your friends are gone, and war is a constant. And you wonder how much your overbearing silence poisons everything you touch.Your kingdom is withering at your feet, and your tending to roses. Coughing up petals and breathing past thorns you wonder if a place can be an addiction, because this place is killing you and you keep coming back.---Aka. I had a bad day and vent through smp!Eret.
Relationships: Eret & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: MCYT  Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125812
Kudos: 17





	The Crown

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead, just having a bad time. 
> 
> This is 100% a vent fic bc I vibe so much with smp!Eret.
> 
> I wrote this in my first period, so its hella rushed. I swear I'm working on something more polished and less,,,, vent-y

Your kingdom is built on unsteady ground. The crown that you wear wasn't meant for you. You know that. The crown is overbearing and you don't even have the heart to call yourself a king.

You wonder if you were born a traitor.

You know you weren't. Your mother was kinder than you could ever be and your father had had stars in his eyes from the day you were born, and you wonder what he would think now. Strung up and cast out, you can't bring yourself to admit that he would have been as blind as you were, because he trusted you. He had trusted you until the day he died and maybe that was your fault.

You had forged a million empty promises and he had believed them all.  
He had believed in you.

Your kingdom's walls were crumbling, fading into obscurity and all you could do was watch. Look on as the walls turned to ash in front of you and still wasted your time on the trivial. Again and again.

A garden.

A home.

Yourself.

You didn't need to be king for this. You knew that. You didn't need to be king.

Your throne felt like it was made of glass. Shards stabbing into you and keeping you away, as if not looking at it would fix the problem, and when you finally try to do something, it's painful. Your fingers are dripping red, and there's red staining the carpet, and everything is worse.

Your friends are gone, and war is a constant. And you wonder how much your overbearing silence poisons everything you touch.

Your kingdom is withering at your feet, and your tending to roses. Coughing up petals and breathing past thorns you wonder if a place can be an addiction, because this place is killing you and you keep coming back.

You think it is, as you watch Wilbur clawing his way into relevance. Singing a song that's never finished and that always hated you. It made sense. He had been born with it, a die hard dreamer complex that lead him to this point, it ran in his family. In his father and his brothers, and it stayed.

You had grown to depend on it. What if's and when's guiding you through the day and you did this.

Wilbur was sick. You were indulgent. Still they turn a blind eye to you and kill him.

Your kingdom is in ruins.  
They'd be better off without you.

(Your lungs are heaving. You're sick, and as the crown is pried from your hands, you don't recover.)


End file.
